


Rites of Passage

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [10]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Canon Related, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Manipulation, Non-Canon Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 19:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16414400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: Julian agrees to help Dax in a Trill ritual that allows hosts further integration with their symbionts, but something goes amiss when it's Odo's turn to host Curzon. Garak courts danger while pursuing his course of revenge. Will doctor and tailor learn from the mistakes of the past and plot a healthier course for the future, or will their stubbornness doom them to a future without the other to share it?





	Rites of Passage

**Part I**  
   
_Julian  
Personal Quarters_  
   
Julian felt sluggish getting started on his day, having spent way too much time at Quark's the night before waiting for Leeta to get off work. He wasn't completely sure that he'd define what they were doing as dating, but he had to admit that he enjoyed spending time with her. She was easygoing, pleasant, and uncomplicated, something he needed after his roller coaster ride with Garak. He still found himself feeling twinges of longing for the man's company, as he did this morning while replicating his tea. They had always had tea and rokassa juice together in the mornings.  
   
As he sipped from his mug, he sighed. His plans for re-establishing their lunch dates had never manifested. He was still angry that Garak seemed to have bought into the rumor that he started dating Leeta before they broke things off without ever once approaching him or asking him about it. Also, the Cardassian seemed to be spending more than a little time with Nurse Decla, with absolutely no regard for how horribly awkward that was for him. The woman had small, subtle ways of digging at him, nothing that he could reprimand her for or even easily pin down and ask her not to do without coming across to the other staff members as an unreasonable ass. All of that combined with the polarizing effect of the breakup had made the prospect of having lunch together anything but appetizing.  
   
He finished his tea and zipped his uniform the rest of the way up then stepped out into the corridor, almost tripping over a box sitting in front of his doorway. “What the?!” As he caught himself, he turned back to have a look at it. Before he opened the lid, he already knew what it was. Garak had returned his things. His chest clenched unexpectedly. He didn't have time to deal with this right now, any of it. Angry, and hurt beneath the anger, he hauled the box into his quarters and left it on his dining table to deal with later.  
   
On his way to work, he thought about it, the tailor outside his quarters some time between late last night and early this morning, just depositing the box there as though it were so much junk. He didn't even think to consider that anyone at all could have come along and stolen it? It's not that he had ever left anything of value in Garak's quarters, but it was the principle of the matter. It would have been that much harder to chime the door? He would have settled for a simple, “I've brought your things.” It was insult piled on top of injury.  
   
Most of his staff gave him wide berth when they saw his expression, everyone of course, except Decla. That one wouldn't be intimidated by a charging wild targ, he thought. “Good morning, Doctor Bashir,” she said pleasantly. “Another late night?”  
   
He frowned slightly. “How did you know?”  
   
She offered him a bland smile worthy of Garak and gestured around her own eyes to demonstrate. “You're looking a little dark and droopy,” she said. “This schedule of yours isn't very good for you. Have you thought about changing your work shift to accommodate your new social life? I'm sure we can juggle the personnel.”  
   
He noticed a couple of other staff members listening without trying to look as though they were. “Your concern is touching,” he said in a tone of voice that implied anything but that, “but that won't be necessary. I'm more than capable of performing my duties. Being a little tired now and then is a small price to pay for pleasant company.”  
   
“Isn't that the truth!” she agreed. “Why, just the other night...” she paused and shook her head. “Never mind.”  
   
He refused to take the bait. “All right,” he said, smiling tightly and heading toward his office. He wished that he had a nice old fashioned door that he could slam. A pneumatic whoosh just didn't convey the same level of pique.  
   
Mid-morning, he recalled that he had an important meeting in the wardroom, something having to do with Dax. She had refused to say what when he asked the night before. He was surprised to hear that Leeta had been asked, as well. He was glad that she and Dax seemed to get along well. It made socializing so much more pleasant than when he had been with Garak.  
   
He shoved that thought away, not wanting to poison his mood further. Stepping from his office, he told Decla she had the infirmary until he returned and left before she could question him how long he'd be gone. He had no idea with Dax being so secretive.  
   
He ran into Odo on the way, the two exchanging some meaningless pleasantries. The security chief still treated him somewhat coolly. As tempted as he had been a few times to tell Odo exactly what had gone wrong between him and Garak, he knew that he wouldn't. It would be petty and pointless, and anyway, what kind of friend had Odo been if he was so quick to choose sides without all the facts?  
   
He said his hellos in the wardroom, puzzled at Quark's presence among the more expected senior staff, and hurried to take a seat next to Leeta. “What's going on?” he leaned in, whispering to her.  
   
“I have no idea,” she said, eyes wide.  
   
His lips twitched. “Has anyone told you that you're a horrible liar?”  
   
Dax and Sisko turned away from a private conversation they were having off to the side, and Leeta elbowed him gently. “Hush,” she said, looking straight ahead so she wouldn't laugh. “You're about to find out.”  
   
Dax thanked them for coming and informed them all of her desire for them to participate in her zhian'tara, a rite whereby she would get to meet each of her previous hosts using each of them to embody the various consciousnesses. He found the entire concept fascinating and Leeta's knowledge of it impressive. He readily agreed, glancing around the table as others followed suit. He was a little surprised at how quickly Miles and Kira agreed, not at all surprised that Quark was a hard sell. He was also extremely touched that Dax included him. It meant a lot to know that she trusted him that much and felt that close.  
   
As the meeting ended, he squeezed Leeta's arm, leaned in and kissed her cheek, then hurried to catch up to Miles. “I was wondering if you wanted to play a couple of rounds of darts later this evening,” he said.  
   
“Think you can tear yourself away from Leeta?” the engineer teased him.  
   
“Ha ha,” he said dryly. “You know I stay out of her way when she works.”  
   
“Out of her way, yes, out of the bar, no,” Miles laughed. “Sure, we can do that. I've got to go now, though. I'm going to be testing Nog for his acceptance into the Academy Prep Program.”  
   
“How do you think he'll do?” he asked, falling into step with him to walk with him until their paths diverged.  
   
“Well, that remains to be seen,” Miles said with a shrug. “If he's serious about it, I think he might do OK. I don't know the boy that well.”  
   
Julian nodded. “You think this ritual is going to be interesting?”  
   
“That's one way o' putting it,” he said, eyes widening slightly. He clapped Julian on the shoulder when they reached a juncture. “See you after work.”  
   
_Garak  
Replimat Café_  
   
Garak watched Rom fidget and settle himself with his tray, believing he looked more anxious than usual. As always, he approached the problem obliquely, for asking Rom direct questions tended to make him more nervous, not less. “I saw your brother and Leeta heading out of the bar a little over an hour ago,” he said conversationally.  
   
“Yes,” Rom nodded, frowning. “Supposedly, Lieutenant Dax summoned them for something. I have no idea what. Neither of them would tell me.”  
   
“Lieutenant Dax, you say?” he asked.  
   
Rom nodded. “All Brother would say is that it was very important.”  
   
Garak considered that unlikely, at least as far as his own priorities lay. “Really, Rom, how important can it be if she's summoning civilians? Hardly a matter of station security, hmm?”  
   
That seemed to make him feel some better. He smiled a bit and took a bite of tube grub. “What if it's a party?” he asked suddenly. “I bet it's a party. I'm sure I'll be expected to work.”  
   
“If that were the case, I'd think Leeta would be expected to work, too, wouldn't you?” he asked.  
   
“True,” he said. He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. “Why aren't you having lunch with Nurse Decla today?” he asked.  
   
“You know I don't have lunch with Lisane every day,” he said with a faint smile. “She's a busy woman.”  
   
The Ferengi pushed his food around on his plate. “Can I say something to you without making you mad?” he asked hesitantly.  
   
“I don't know,” the tailor said with a hint of mischief. “Can you?”  
   
Rom snorted softly, gaining confidence from the mild tease. “She's not very nice, Garak,” he said.  
   
Garak's smile widened. “No, she isn't,” he agreed. “Neither am I, so it's a decent fit, wouldn't you say?”  
   
Rom shook his head. “You're civil. She only pretends to be. At first, I thought I understood it. You said you...” he dropped his voice and leaned closer, “you wanted to hurt Doctor Bashir. Well, believe me, you did. You didn't see him the night he came into the bar and saw you two at the Dabo wheel. But...it has been a while now. You've made your point. If you keep staying with her, you're not hurting the doctor. You're hurting yourself.”  
   
He felt a small surge of affection for the waiter. He didn't have many friends, but the ones he had were true ones. “In all the time you've known me, have you ever doubted that I know what I'm doing?” he asked, taking a neat bite of his sem'hal stew.  
   
“Not until now,” he answered with naked honesty.  
   
Garak had to cover his mouth to prevent spitting his food in his laughter. He reached across the table and lightly squeezed Rom's upper arm. “You're entirely too kind to me,” he said, his laughter winding down again. “Trust me when I say that I am in full possession of my faculties. I'm not thinking from the groin. I am well aware of what Lisane is and is not, and I have my reasons for continuing to see her.”  
   
Although he still looked somewhat dubious, this seemed to reassure him. “If you say so,” he said. He glanced to the side. “Uh oh, Doctor Bashir to the right,” he muttered.  
   
Amusement flashed in Garak's eyes. He had seen the man well before Rom did. “Thank you, Rom,” he said graciously.  
   
“I think he's coming this way,” he added resentfully.  
   
Garak studied him. This wasn't the first time he had seen what he would consider disproportionate hostility toward the doctor from his friend. He knew that Rom believed that Julian had mistreated him in the circumstances of the break up, but he didn't believe that Rom's affection for him was so strong that it would spark such deep anger. No, there was more to it, but what? He decided he could bide his time. Such things had a way of revealing themselves in their own way. The man was right. Julian was approaching. He set his utensil down politely and waited. Rom hunched his shoulders and took a particularly vicious bite of his food.  
   
“Can I talk to you?” Julian said abruptly.  
   
Garak glanced at Rom and made a decision. “As you can see,” he said pleasantly, “I'm having lunch with a friend. Come by the shop later, or catch me after work, and I'll be happy to speak with you.”  
   
He thought for a moment the man would argue with him, but Julian glanced at Rom, too, and must not have liked what he saw in the deep set eyes. He nodded tightly, turned on the ball of his foot, and walked away toward the infirmary.  
   
“I wonder what that was all about,” Rom said, craning his neck to watch him go.  
   
He was fairly certain that he knew. “I have no idea,” he said, spreading his hands. “You know how humans can be, incredibly moody.”  
   
The Ferengi nodded, snorting a laugh. “That's the truth. It's one reason they make such terrible Tongo players.”  
   
As he resumed eating, he recalled something. “Nog's testing started today, didn't it?”  
   
He never needed encouragement to talk about his son. Nodding enthusiastically, he said, “Yes! He has been studying and practicing so hard. I've never seen him so focused on anything. Brother thinks it's a waste of his time, but I couldn't be more proud. I only wish that I had thought to do something like that when I was younger.”  
   
“It's never too late to improve one's lot,” Garak said encouragingly. “When will you know if he has gotten into the program?”  
   
“The testing lasts at least a couple of days. I don't know how long it takes them to process the results, but the program starts in early summer, uh, Terran summer, which is coming up pretty soon, and lasts six weeks,” he said. “He has never been away from me before for that long.” He sounded a little forlorn.  
   
He didn't show it, but the obvious concern Rom felt for his son left an ache in his chest. Had his father ever felt anything even close to such regard? He didn't believe so, but it didn't stop him from missing him any less. “The time will pass before you know it,” he said. “And when he returns, the two of you will have many new things to talk about. I'm sure he'll want to tell you all about Earth.”  
   
“That's true,” he said, brightening at the prospect, then just as quickly turning downcast. Garak reflected that humans weren't the only moody species he knew, but he held his tongue. “Except I won't have anything new to tell him.”  
   
“You never know,” he said. “It's not a long time span, but much can happen in six weeks.”  _Too much,_  he thought, feeling his own mood take a down turn. That was enough of that. “Do you recall telling me that you would teach me to play Tongo?”  
   
“Yes,” Rom said, nodding eagerly.  
   
“How about in exchange, I teach you Kotra?” he proposed. The lighthearted conversation was back on track, and neither of them seemed to take another turn for the worse for the rest of their lunch together.  
   
_Julian  
Garak's Clothiers_  
   
Julian couldn't believe how much stock Garak had built since the destruction of the shop. Had it really been that long since he had set foot inside? It must have. No matter how efficient his ex was, he wasn't a miracle worker. He stepped forward toward the counter, aware of the tailor's eyes upon him. “Leaving my things out in the corridor?” he asked, hating the bitter note in his question.  
   
“I was up early this morning for inventory,” he said with a light shrug. “I realized that I still had quite a bit of your clothing and thought you might like it back. Petty theft is hardly a problem in the H-rings, and I didn't want to awaken you for something so trivial.”  
   
“Trivial?” he asked, incredulous.  
   
“Yes,” Garak answered with a nod. “While I appreciate clothing more than many, it's still just clothing.”  
   
He opened his mouth to argue with him and thought better of it. No doubt the Cardassian would feel contempt for what he'd call sentiment if he tried to explain that such gestures held weight and finality that were painful. “Would you like for me to gather your things and leave them outside your quarters?” he asked instead.  
   
“Whatever is least troubling for you. If it would be easier for you to leave them here at the shop at your convenience, that would be fine, too,” he said.  
   
“Then why didn't you just leave mine at the infirmary?” he asked. “My quarters are hardly on the way for you when it comes to work.”  
   
“I was trying to be considerate,” the tailor said patiently. “I didn't think you wanted your personal business displayed so obviously at your place of work.”  
   
“Yet you have no problem whatsoever dating my head nurse,” he said before he could stop himself.  _Damn it,_  he thought.  
   
“I'm not sure I'd call it dating,” he said, tilting his head as he considered. “That's an odd term, anyway. There's no real correspondence to it in Cardassian culture. Besides, how exactly is my association with Lisane related to your personal business?”  
   
Perhaps he should have at least tried to talk to Garak before now. As a result of keeping his resentment and confusion bottled, he now found it bubbling up and out at this inopportune time and in a far from ideal way. “I don't understand how you can bear to be in the same room with her after what she did to you, to us. Do you hate me so much now that you'd do anything to make me miserable?”  
   
Garak's smile curved a sardonic line. “My dear Doctor,” he said, “I was always aware that you thought rather much of yourself at times, but this is really beyond the pale. You actually believe that I have spent time with Lisane all this time in some misbegotten attempt to upset you? To what end?”  
   
He tried to read him, what was really going on behind that slightly malicious expression, but he was no better at it than he had been when they were together. When Garak didn't want to be read, there was no breaking his facade. “I don't know what to believe,” he said, frustrated. “You told me you wished to remain friends, and yet I haven't heard a word from you, unless you count that box I almost tripped over this morning, which I don't.”  
   
“I told you that I would be there as much or as little for you as you wanted,” he reminded him. “My dear, you are the one who asked to end the relationship. You said you needed time to think. What kind of friend would I be to you if I immediately pressed my company upon you after such a request?”  
   
That took a lot of the force out of his outrage. He blinked. Was it possible that all of his resentment and hurt was self-created, that if he had just bothered to approach the man, he could have spared himself at least some of his pain? “So you don't hate me?” he asked.  
   
“What an odd notion,” Garak said, seemingly genuinely baffled. “Why would you think that I hate you?”  
   
“Well, the rumors,” he said uncomfortably, “that I started seeing Leeta before I broke it off with you.”  
   
“Rumors?” he asked with a puzzled look.  
   
Julian stared hard at him. It was no use. If Garak wanted him to believe that he didn't know or if Garak genuinely hadn't known, the result would be exactly the same. He might never know the truth of it. “Yes,” he said crossly. “Just for the record, I don't believe for one instant that you hadn't heard and didn't believe it. It's not true. I would never do that to you, and I would never use someone else as an excuse to end our relationship. We both know why it ended.”  
   
Garak nodded, looking a little tired all of a sudden. “Was there anything else you wanted, then? If not, I should get back to work. I'm still trying to rebuild my stock, and fashion across the quadrant has changed somewhat since I had a full show room.”  
   
“I'd like to start having lunch again,” he said hesitantly.  
   
“Only if you promise not to make an issue of my seeing Lisane. Who I see and what I do with my time is my own business,” he said. “I don't owe you or anyone else explanations.”  
   
“You're right. You don't,” he said. He didn't have to like it to accept it. “So...you're OK with talking again?”  
   
“Of course I am,” he said, smiling pleasantly. “Indeed, I hoped that eventually you would want to resume our lunches. I've missed them.”  
   
He nodded and forced a smile of his own. “Good. I mean...I'm glad that we're talking again. I should be getting back to work now. I'll bring your things to you here in the morning.”  
   
“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head. “That's very thoughtful of you.”  
   
He left the shop with jumbled emotions. How was it that Garak had managed to defuse his anger so easily without ever giving anything of himself away? It was as though he had fallen right back into that same pattern all over again, the one that had twice led to their parting of ways. He didn't know if the flaw lay in him, Garak, or some toxic combination of the two of them, and he secretly worried that he wasn't strong enough for a friendship with the tailor. His desires too easily ran away with him whenever they were in proximity for any length of time. How did one unlearn passion?  
   
He completed his work day, unwound over a few games of darts with Miles, briefly spoke to Leeta on her shift, and headed back to his quarters. He wasn't looking forward to his promised task, gathering Garak's things and boxing them for delivery. When he arrived, he first tackled the box that Garak had delivered to him.  
   
It felt odd, each item of clothing carrying its own story, its own memories, this tunic the one he wore the first time they played Kotra together, that pair of socks ones Garak had surprised him with “just because”. Most of the clothing had been given to him by the tailor over time to help him overcome what Garak called his abysmal lack of fashion sense. At the time, he thought it sweet, but now he wondered. Was it just another symptom of the Cardassian's need to control and order everything in his environment? Was it loving attention or obsessive domineering? Was there a difference when it came to Garak?  
   
He sighed. None of that mattered anymore. They were now trying for friendship, both of them having moved on to new partners to meet their romantic needs. Perhaps when he became closer to Leeta, these unresolved feelings he had for Garak would fade, and he'd be able to interact with him with appropriate motives. Once he had the box unpacked, he quickly put away his things and started on the harder task, separating Garak's spare clothing from his in the wardrobe and his dresser.  
   
This clothing held memory also, and faint traces of Garak's scent, so different from his own and yet never unpleasant to him. He stopped short of lifting one of the tunics to his face. It would be inappropriate now, and it would call up feelings best left buried. His door chime jolted him from those thoughts, and his heart fluttered. “Who's there?” he called through the comm.  
   
“It's Leeta,” came the reply.  
   
_Of course it is,_  he thought, feeling stupid for letting his imagination run away with him. Garak had no reason to visit his private quarters now and wouldn't have come just because he was thinking of him in that moment. “Enter,” he said. When he heard the door open, he called to her, “I'm in the back.”  
   
She paused in the bedroom doorway, still dressed in her Dabo girl outfit and looking tired. “I'm sorry for dropping by unannounced,” she said. “I'm just feeling a little nervous about the ritual, and...” She trailed off when she saw the garment in his hands, her look an understanding one. “Is this a bad time?”  
   
“No,” he said, carefully folding the tunic and adding it to the pile in the box. “Actually, it's a really good time. This was long overdue.”  
   
She approached and slipped her arms around him from behind, briefly resting her cheek at his back. “Maybe you should talk to him,” she said. “I know you miss him.”  
   
“Actually, I talked to him today. He returned my things this morning. I caught up with him at his shop, and...” he glanced over his shoulder, “we've decided to start having lunch again.” He held his breath, waiting for a negative reaction that didn't come.  
   
Instead, she turned him around and tipped her head back, her arms in an easy circle around his waist. “I think that's wonderful,” she said.  
   
“Y...you do?” he asked, putting his arms around her, too, and enjoying the soft warmth of her against him.  
   
“I do,” she said, nodding. “You've known each other for years and been close most of that time. It would be a shame if you couldn't stay friends just because being lovers didn't work for you. Good friends are hard to find and should never be set aside lightly.”  
   
“I'm...a little surprised to hear you say that,” he confessed.  
   
“Why, because he's your ex, or because he's a Cardassian?” She made a soft sound of impatience and shook her head. “You don't know me that well yet, so I can forgive you for either assumption, but that's not me.”  
   
He felt himself relaxing, the knot inside beginning to unwind. He pulled her closer yet and brushed his lips across her forehead. “I want to know you better,” he said softly.  
   
“And you will,” she replied, popping up to tip toes to kiss him lightly on the nose.  
   
Realizing from that gesture that she wasn't there for intimacy, he remembered what she said when she first came in before he hijacked the conversation about his own issues. “The ritual,” he said, pulling back and making room for her to sit on the bed while he worked. “What has you nervous about it?”  
   
“I suppose it's just the idea that I'll be sharing my head with somebody else, a real, whole consciousness. I know Dax said we can reassert ourselves at any time, but isn't that scary? Once it's over, we'll have memories of these people, and they'll have memories of us. It will be preserved for as long as the Dax symbiont lives. It's a lot to take in,” she said, drawing one leg up and tucking her foot beneath her.  
   
“It is,” he said, suddenly concerned. What if the consciousness he embodied discovered his secret? When it returned to Dax, she would then know it. He struggled to hide the depths of his unease in case Leeta picked up on it. “I'm most worried about Com—Captain Sisko,” he added. It was going to take him a little time to get used to addressing the Captain by his new rank. “He's embodying a dangerous host, one who murdered a doctor on Trill.”  
   
“The Captain is a strong man,” she said. “He can handle it.”  
   
They fell into companionable silence while he finished ferreting out Garak's belongings and packing them. The box was emptier than when it arrived. He had left far more things at Garak's place than Garak had ever left at his. He tried not to view it as a metaphor of the relationship and almost succeeded. “That's it, then,” he said, closing it snugly. “I'll take this by his shop in the morning, and that will be that.”  
   
She gave him a wry half smile. “Who are you trying to convince of that, yourself or me?”  
   
“What?” he asked, surprised at her insight. Maybe she wasn't as uncomplicated as he thought she was.  
   
“You Terrans are an interesting lot,” she said. “You'd cope better with things if you hadn't thrown away so many of your rituals.” She smiled at him. “I know. You think we Bajorans are bound by superstition and would be better off if we accepted your gospel of science. Don't even try to deny it, because I've seen how linear your thinking is.”  
   
“I'd never go so far as to accuse you of being superstitious...” he said a bit defensively.  
   
“Ritual isn't just about appeasing some outer force. It speaks to the depths of the psyche. It allows you to absorb beginnings and losses. It provides closure. When a significant Bajoran relationship ends, we have a ritual of closure. We take time out to celebrate all of the things that brought us together. We remember the good times, honor what we've learned, and part as friends. It's quite healing,” she said.  
   
He couldn't help it. He had to laugh. As she pressed her lips thin, he held up a hand to forestall the negative reaction. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm not laughing at that. It's just the idea of trying to get Garak to participate in such a thing. I can picture exactly the look on his face and hear what he'd say.” He did his best approximation of the tailor, which truly wasn't terrible all things considered. “'My dear Doctor, have you lost your mind?'”  
   
Her annoyed expression eased back to a slight smile. “Even if he won't participate, it doesn't mean you can't do something for yourself. It might surprise you.”  
   
“I wouldn't have the faintest idea of how to construct some parting ritual for our breakup,” he said.  
   
“Lucky for you, someone you know is very interested in sociology,” she said coyly, “and even has several books and studies on rituals from all sorts of cultures. If you ask her very nicely, she might lend you one or two of them.”  
   
“How nicely?” he asked, smiling and reaching his hands down to her.  
   
She slipped hers into his and allowed him to draw her to her feet. “How nice can you be?” she asked playfully, her lips mere centimeters from his.  
   
“Very...” he said, leaning in to brush a kiss, “very...” followed by another, “nice.” He kissed her more deeply, enjoying the soft, fullness of her mouth.  
   
After a little while, she drew back, plying her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck. “No,” she said, mischief dancing in her deep brown eyes.  
   
“No?” he asked, eyes wide.  
   
“You didn't say please,” she said with a laugh.  
   
“Well, by all means, please,” he said, suddenly moving to tickle her until both of them were laughing breathlessly.  
   
“OK! OK!” she shrieked, “You win! I'll get them to you tomorrow!” He relented, still smiling when she stepped away from him and tried to comport herself. “I should probably get going,” she said. “The ritual will be starting early, and I want to be well rested.”  
   
He nodded, moving to walk her to the door. “I'll see you there, and really, try not to worry. These rituals have been going on for a very long time. I imagine if they were particularly dangerous or unpleasant, we'd have heard about it.”  
   
She eyed him a little strangely and curved a smile. “I'm sure you're an amazing doctor,” she said, granting him a final sweet kiss, “but you have a lot to learn when it comes to sociology. Good night!” With that, she left him there to his own thoughts and a somewhat improved mood.

**Part II**

_Garak  
Private Quarters_  
   
It didn't happen often, but occasionally restlessness struck Garak to the point that nothing sufficed, not his reading, not his work, not people watching on the Promenade. There was a time not so long ago that he would have known exactly what to do with himself when he found himself in such a predicament, but that avenue was closed to him now. He still felt currents of self-loathing for what he had allowed himself to do to his ex. Julian obviously couldn't forgive him; nor could he forgive himself. He reflected that this was as it should be. It didn't stop it from hurting.  
   
He decided to leave his quarters, as staying cooped up only served to exacerbate the condition. The turbolift descended, thankfully empty. Initially, he intended to stay on until he reached the Promenade. However, when he reached H-ring two, he made an impulsive decision to disembark. He considered that this might be pushing things too quickly. He'd know for certain soon enough. Strolling casually to Lisane's, he chimed her door, knowing that she would be off shift by now. He identified himself at her query and was pleased when the door slid open to admit him.  
   
She was still in uniform, but she had taken her hair down. She looked surprised to see him. “I got home late,” she said apologetically, “so I haven't eaten yet. I hope you don't mind?” She paused on her way to her replicator. “Would you like to join me?”  
   
“I've eaten, but I'll gladly sit with you,” he said pleasantly.  
   
“It's nice to have dinner company,” she said. She replicated herself a small meal and brought it to the table, taking a mug of red leaf tea from her tray and setting it before him as he approached.  
   
He waited for her to take her seat then took his own. “Thank you for the tea.”  
   
“It's rare you're not in the mood for that,” she said. “How was your day?”  
   
“Uneventful. Yours?”  
   
“The usual,” she said, shrugging. “As usual as things get when one works in an infirmary. I hear that you and the doctor will be resuming your lunches.” She took a bite of her food and eyed him curiously.  
   
He had to laugh. Gossip traveled on winged feet on this station. “Yes,” he said. “Apparently, enough time has passed for him that he isn't completely averse to my company. I'm pleased.”  
   
“Good for you,” she said. “For you both. There's rarely a reason that a broken romance can't resolve in friendship.”  
   
He sipped his tea and listened to her, not just what she said but how she said it. As always, there was subtext in her words, a complexity to her timbre that made him frustrated with his own somewhat limited hearing. He simply inclined his head in response to this, and they lapsed into silence while she ate.  
   
After she wiped her mouth and sat back in her chair, she asked, “What brought you here tonight? You're never much for small talk or unexpected visits.”  
   
He genuinely couldn't articulate a true response to that. Thankfully, telling the truth had never been a bad habit he had allowed himself to cultivate. “I just found myself wanting to see you,” he said.  
   
She stood to clear the table and snorted a laugh. “Do you ever get tired of lying?” she asked.  
   
“Never,” he quipped, pleased that she had caught him. It was truly refreshing to spend time with someone who was never willing to take him at face value. He watched her drop the tray into the recycler and turn to him, assessment in her wide-set eyes. She approached and circled the round table to his side, then stepped behind him. He tensed without showing it, prepared to react at a moment's notice if necessary.  
   
She rested both hands lightly atop his shoulders and leaned in. He felt her flaxen hair threaded with silver tickling his neck and her breath his ear when she murmured, “If you want something, Garak, you're going to have to ask for it. I'm not a mind reader.”  
   
He did want. Despite loathing her, perhaps partially because of it, in that moment he wanted fiercely. He turned his head, lips seeking her jawline, only to feel her pull away, her hands slipping from his shoulders. She turned her back on him to walk toward her bedroom. “I'm going to change out of this uniform,” she said. “Make yourself comfortable while you wait.”  
   
She knew Cardassians. He saw deliberate provocation in the way she dismissed him and acted on it, pushing to his feet and closing the distance between them before she could get far. He turned her roughly with tight hands at her upper arms, fingers digging into soft flesh. Instead of fighting him, she went perfectly still and met his gaze calmly, her chin lifting. The mixed signals left him less certain. He couldn't afford to get ham-fisted with this woman, or everything he was working toward would be ruined. His frustration must have shown, because her smile curved slightly mocking. That was enough. He fell upon her, kissing her roughly, wanting to erase every last trace of smugness. The pupils of her wide eyes contracted, then expanded, darkening the green to moss. He felt her hands over his back and her short nails digging at him through his tunic.  
   
When both of them were breathless and gasping, he broke the kiss. “I believe you know what I want,” he said.  
   
“I told you that you're going to have to ask for it,” she said, defiant even with her lips swollen and her face flushed.  
   
“I won't,” he said tightly, glaring at her without releasing her.  
   
“Then you'll have to take it against my will or go without,” she mocked him, steely resolve in her gaze. “I'm not like your doctor, my dear. I won't go quietly.”  
   
He could see that she wouldn't, and he wasn't interested in playing that sort of game. He released her arms and stepped back from her, trying to compose himself. She knew exactly how to push his buttons. Knowing what he now knew about her lover, it didn't surprise him. The man was formidable. “Go ahead and change,” he said. “I'll wait.”  
   
She smiled more widely and once more turned her back on him to head into her bedroom. He walked to her sofa and took a seat. He realized that coming to her in his current state of mind had been a mistake. His own emotions and drives were working as leverage against him. However, if he left now, she would view it as scoring a point on him, rightly so. He pondered how he might yet turn this to his advantage, but nothing had come to him by the time she emerged once more, not dressed provocatively, as he expected, but rather conservatively in plain, charcoal gray slacks that were neither too loose nor snug and a lighter gray shirt that looked as though she chose it more for comfort than effect.  
   
She curled comfortably in the cradle created by the back and arm of the sofa and drew her sock clad feet up, her legs an effective barrier against his getting too close. Resting her elbow at the back of the sofa, she set her cheek in her palm. “What now?” she asked. “I'm not much for small talk, myself.”  
   
“I was right about your liking control,” he said, probing to see if he could find her anger again.  
   
Instead she smiled, looking truly amused. “Probably as much as you do,” she said. “That leaves us in a bit of a bind, doesn't it?”  
   
“I suppose so, and it's all rather stupid, isn't it? We're both adults. There's no reason for us to play such games.”  
   
“None,” she agreed, still smiling.  
   
“You really expect me to beg,” he said flatly. It was looking as though he would have to find a different way to bring his plan to fruition after all, because there was no way he would ever do such a thing. She was a fool if she thought he would.  
   
“Not beg. Ask,” she clarified. “There's a difference.”  
   
“Why?” he asked, curious at this insistence of hers.  
   
“Because I don't want you taking liberties and making assumptions. If you ask me, there will be no doubt in your mind that what we're doing we do at my sufferance, not because you tricked or seduced me into it, but because you asked me, and I said yes.”  
   
“You'll have to forgive me if I don't trust your assertion. I consider it equally likely that I'll ask, you'll say no, and summarily usher me out of your quarters while having a nice laugh at my expense,” he said.  
   
“If you want this, that's a risk you're going to have to take,” she said with a one shouldered shrug.  
   
If it were about her alone, he'd have no trouble turning around, walking out her door, and never coming back, but he was committed. He was going to have to take some risks, just as with almost anything he did these days. Fully prepared for rejection, he asked, “Will you let me stay tonight?”  
   
“I will,” she said, “on one condition.”  
   
_This should be rich,_  he thought dryly. “What's that?” he asked, as though it didn't matter one way or the other.  
   
She unfurled from her seat and lowered herself to the floor, easing over to him and setting a very warm hand atop his knee. Looking up at him through thick lashes, she said, “You won't be gentle.”  
   
Desire washed through him, sharp and intense. Swallowing thickly, he nodded and reached for her wrists, yanking her up against him forcefully. “I promise,” he growled and meant it more sincerely than anything he had ever said to her.  
   
_Julian  
Guest Quarters_  
   
The doctor blinked at Dax and smiled, glancing at the Trill Guardian standing beside the two of them. “When do we start?” he asked. He actually had more memory of the experience than he let on, but since Kira, Miles, and Leeta didn't seem to have any memories from their experiences, and Quark refused to discuss his, he decided it would be safer to pretend.  
   
Dax smiled a little sheepishly. “It's already over,” she said. “I'm sorry. Not everyone recalls what happens during the transfer. Torias got a little heavy handed with the nuts,” she gestured at a half empty bowl. “So if you're worried about your diet, you may want to go light on dinner tonight.”  
   
“I do feel rather full,” he said, putting his hand to his belly and rubbing it. “It went all right, then?”  
   
“Perfectly. Thank you so much for doing this for me,” she said, pulling him in for a hug and kissing his cheek.  
   
“You know all you ever have to do is ask,” he said sincerely. “I can't think of anything I wouldn't do for you.”  
   
“I know,” she said and squeezed his hand. “I had better go. Benjamin is waiting for us in the Security Office.” A trace of worry clouded her eyes.  
   
“It'll be fine,” he said, less certain than he sounded. Torias had been a strong presence. Had he wished to exert control of his own body, it would have been difficult without the Trill's consent. He knew that Captain Sisko was strong willed and intelligent, but by all accounts Joran had been, too. “You'll have to tell me all about it later.” She nodded, and he parted ways with her and the Guardian out in the corridor. It was getting late, and Miles was still occupied with testing Nog. He decided to pop by the bar anyway to unwind a little and relax after the strange experience of sharing his head space with someone else. He needn't have worried about his secret. Torias didn't pry or seem to have much awareness or concern for him at all.  
   
He entered at the balcony level, just because it was most convenient, and allowed his eyes to adjust to the lower light. As he walked toward the stairs, he saw Garak and Decla at the bar. He paused, no longer certain he wanted to be there. He told himself it would be different if Garak were with someone who wasn't so borderline insubordinate with him at work, a woman who obviously held no like or respect for him and whose motives with Garak were highly suspect. He told himself that and knew he was lying to himself. He'd have to get over that jealousy. It was irrational, and it wasn't fair to the tailor. He couldn't play the “I don't want you, but no one else can have you,” game. He couldn't even claim honestly that he didn't want him, although that was a different issue altogether.  
   
As he watched them, he came to the sudden realization that they had been intimate. He couldn't explain how he knew it so certainly on a gut level, but he did. Perhaps it was the way she leaned in toward the Cardassian even though they weren't touching, or the possessive glint in his ex's eyes as he spoke with her. He settled his hands to the balcony rail and gripped tightly. He wasn't moving that quickly with Leeta. Of course there were no hard, fast rules about these sorts of things. It just seemed a little sudden to him. Was that why Garak had returned his things when he did? Was he making room for Decla?  
   
He was so absorbed in the disturbing thoughts that he didn't see or hear Leeta come up behind him. She touched his shoulder lightly, and he whirled, feeling guilty at having been caught in such obvious jealousy. “You probably shouldn't go down there,” she said. “Speaking to him again and spending time with him and his new girlfriend aren't the same thing. No one is expecting you to be that gracious.” She smiled gently and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “If you want to talk when I get off work, we can. Would you like for me to bring you a drink up here?”  
   
“No,” he said, looking apologetic. “I really shouldn't stay. I'd be tempted to watch them, and...I have no business doing that.”  
   
“I understand,” she said. “You're welcome to come by later.” She hesitated as though debating with herself and finally added, “Just to talk. It's not that I'm not interested. I just don't think that now would be a good time, not while you're feeling like that.”  
   
As much as he hated to admit it, she had a point. “I may take you up on that,” he said. “If I haven't arrived by 2500, don't expect me.”  
   
She nodded and walked past him and down the stairs. He watched her go, grateful that she was as understanding as she seemed to be. He didn't think he could take much drama from someone else on top of his own. He decided to withdraw before either Garak or Decla saw him. He didn't want Garak to think he was deliberately following him, and he didn't want to give the nurse the satisfaction of seeing him seeing them. He knew that if she did, she would find a way to rub his face in it the next day.  
   
_Garak  
Quark's Bar_  
   
While he and Lisane drank together, Garak watched Rom pace and Quark grouse at him for it. He never got involved in that family dynamic. It didn't prevent him from feeling annoyed with Quark. Rom's son was involved in something important both to father and son, so important that Rom had commissioned a uniform from him as a surprise gift for the boy and insisted on paying top price. He wanted to see the young man in it, not because he had any love for Starfleet but because it would make Rom happy.  
   
Eventually, Nog and Chief O'Brien emerged from one of the holosuites. The two of them exited the bar together, the boy looking drained and nervous. Garak paid closer attention than he let on, not turning to follow their progress once they were out of his line of sight.  
   
“You're distracted,” Lisane said, touching his forearm lightly.  
   
He nodded, not bothering to explain why. The last time this woman had discovered who was important to him, she used it against him. He had no reason to believe she wouldn't do so with another given the chance. Their physical intimacy the night before was just that, a scratching of a physical itch. Just because it was a very gratifying scratch didn't mean it drew them closer.  
   
She reached over and plucked his kanar glass, taking a swallow from it and setting it back in his reach. Closing her eyes briefly, she gave a quick shake of her head. “Been a long time since I've had that,” she said. “I'm having to reacquire the taste.”  
   
He wondered if she was actually speaking of kanar and smiled faintly. Always with the subtext. Did she know it pleased him? It was possible that everything she did was calculated to have such an effect on him. She was as heavily invested in whatever game she was playing as he was in his. He still suspected that she hoped to distract him from her old lover. Yes, she knew Cardassians well. Cupping his hand at the back of her head, he drew her in to taste the kanar on her lips. He didn't care who saw them. If one of his enemies got word that he had a new Bajoran lover, it was nothing to him. Let them do their worst.  
   
Quark eyed the two of them as the kiss continued and deepened. “Garak,” he said, “I never thought I'd have to say this to you, but honestly, get a room.”  
   
Lisane flushed as she pulled back from Garak, shooting a positively poisonous glance at the Ferengi. “You're going to pretend you have standards?” she asked. “I've seen you do far worse.” As though to emphasize her point, she leaned over the bar and shot a hand out, rubbing a long finger suggestively over the lower curve of his lobe.  
   
“Ahhh, uhhhh,” he stammered, grasping the bar top to keep his knees from giving out. “You're going to get me hurt.” He shot a worried look at the tailor.  
   
Garak smirked. “I notice you're not moving away,” he observed.  
   
“C—an't,” Quark said, his eyes rolling.  
   
Her point made, Lisane let him go and resettled on her stool. “Be glad we're not that obscene and stop harassing us,” she said sharply.  
   
Quark nodded, catching his breath, and moving away from them to bother Rom some more. “Better be careful,” Garak warned her while he was still in earshot. “I think he likes his women forceful. You may start something you can't easily end.”  
   
“You'd be surprised how easily I could end anything I didn't want,” she said, lifting her spring wine and taking a dainty sip.  
   
“Not really,” he said drolly. He was about to say more when Odo approached the bar, not looking at all like himself. He blinked at the Trill spots and the more defined face, and his brow ridges dipped in perplexed concern when the security chief kissed Quark on the forehead and called him a magnificent scoundrel. Odo...winked at him?! He then turned and smiled at Sisko, who seemed in on the joke, if that was what it was.  
   
As Dax approached to join the trio, Garak put some latinum on the bar and stood, offering Lisane an arm. “Where are we going?” she asked. “And what's wrong with the Constable?”  
   
“To a table,” he replied, shaking his head and shrugging with a baffled expression. He didn't know, and he didn't want to be near whatever it was. There was something about the way Odo looked and was behaving that set him on edge. Also, ever since Dax had confronted him in his shop, he hadn't wanted to be around her. It was too visceral a reminder of what he had done to Julian. Whether it was true or not, it seemed to him that her blue eyes always held accusation when she looked at him these days.  
   
Lisane accompanied him without questioning him further. The two climbed the stairs together and settled at a table on the balcony where he could watch from a distance. Captain Sisko left, and Odo and Dax began speaking in a way that was far more intimate than he'd have expected of the changeling. Was it possible he had missed some major development in Odo's life while so occupied with his own? When the two of them approached the Tongo table, he could barely contain his curiosity any longer.  
   
“You could always go ask,” Lisane said, amusement in her voice.  
   
“That would spoil the fun of trying to figure it out on my own,” he said, turning his attention back to her. “I'm sorry. I'm being rude.”  
   
“I'll live,” she said, settling an elbow to the table top. “If I invite you back to my quarters again tonight, will you accept?”  
   
“Invite me and find out,” he said, fixing her with a brilliant blue gaze.  
   
“You use those eyes of yours too well,” she said with a soft laugh, “and I'm sure you know it. How much have you gotten away with just because they're beautiful?” She sighed and straightened her shoulders. “Come home with me tonight?”  
   
“Yes,” he said. “Soon. I just want one more drink.” He hoped that he wouldn't have to nurse it for too long. However, before they could get the attention of a waiter, Nog came back into the bar, his shoulders drooped and his head downcast.  _Oh, dear,_  Garak thought regretfully.  _That's a shame._  He had his answer, but to be on the safe side, he pretended he was still intent on getting someone's attention for a little while longer. “I've changed my mind,” he said, standing and offering her a hand. “I have no intention of waiting here all night just for mediocre kanar.” The two left together with her none the wiser, he hoped.  
   
_Julian  
Leeta's Quarters_  
   
Feeling as though he had done the lion's share of the talking since he arrived, Julian finally quieted down. He had told Leeta more than he intended, particularly of his concern about Decla and her intentions. It felt good to get it off his chest to someone who wouldn't judge him the way Dax might. Dax just seemed too relieved that he was no longer with Garak. He knew why, and while he appreciated her concern for him, he also felt that she was being too harsh. It wasn't something he felt comfortable telling her. Leeta stroked her fingers through his hair, reclining on the couch while he sat on the floor in front of her with his head leaned back. “What do you think?” he asked at last. “Am I just being crazy?”  
   
“No,” she said. “She sounds thoroughly unpleasant. Maybe that's what he wants right now, though.”  
   
“I'm not sure I understand,” he said, lifting his head so that he could turn and look at her.  
   
“You said he was attracted to her before the two of you broke up. Maybe he wants to get that out of his system, and it's safe because she's not the sort of person he would let himself get close to. I don't know him at all, but from what I've seen of him from a distance he doesn't strike me as a stupid man. I doubt he's suddenly crazy for this woman just because he misses you,” she said.  
   
“True,” he said. It made a lot of sense to him. If Leeta were less intelligent and understanding, he probably would have been more intent on just bedding her and less worried about messing up something that could be nice. He knew he wasn't ready for a full blown relationship right now. If anything, it was insecurity, not common sense, telling him that Garak was getting into something meaningful with the Bajoran nurse. “Have you ever considered psychology instead of sociology?” he asked, a teasing light in his eyes.  
   
“Are you saying I should charge you for this?” she asked, teasing him back. “The pay has to be better than I make at Quark's.”  
   
“And I'm better company than the average Dabo player,” he added.  
   
She pretended to have to think about it. “I'm not so sure about that.” She couldn't let that stand for long, shooting him an impish smile.  
   
“Have I told you how nice it is just being able to relax and be silly with someone?” he asked.  
   
“Hmm, maybe once or twice. You could always tell me again if you felt like it,” she said.  
   
“It's very, very nice,” he said, leaning his head back on the couch once more.  
   
She leaned over him so that he viewed her from upside down. “Hair stroking,” she said emphatically, “is extra.”  
   
“You've been working for Quark too long!”  
   
“Tell me about it,” she said with an exaggerated sigh and flopped back on her sofa dramatically.  
   
Even though she was playing, he sensed something a little more serious beneath it. “Can I ask you something?” he asked, sitting up again and this time drawing his legs under him so that he could sit back on his heels.  
   
“Of course,” she said, turning onto her side and propping her cheek in her hand.  
   
“Why do you work for Quark? I mean...you're very smart.” He colored slightly, hoping that she wouldn't take it the wrong way.  
   
“You really mean why am I a Dabo girl,” she said, the playful spark fading from her rich brown eyes.  
   
As there was no backing down now without making it even worse, he nodded. “Not that there's anything wrong with it. It just seems a little beneath your skills.”  
   
She quirked her lips. “I'm going to be nice to you and take that the way I can tell you mean it. You had just better not let the other girls hear you say things like that to me. With maybe one or two exceptions, I can't think of a single one of us who isn't more intelligent than the demands of the job require. For all of my smarts, I'm self educated. That means there aren't any official jobs for me on Bajor, or elsewhere for that matter. I would like to have a more formal education, and maybe one day I'll be able to afford one. Until then, my options are limited, and I happen to like this better than farming poisoned land.”  
   
He felt chastised despite the fact that there was nothing accusatory or defensive in her voice or manner. He also felt ungrateful for his own opportunities, things he took for granted and accepted with resentment due to his circumstances. He didn't realize he was wincing until she reached for one of his hands and said, “Don't do that. Don't feel bad for me.”  
   
“I'm not,” he said. “Not exactly. You just reminded me how...fortunate...I've been. I haven't always been as grateful as perhaps I should be.”  
   
“It's never too late for gratitude,” she said simply, reaching to ruffle his hair. “I hate to kick you out, but I'm exhausted, and you seem to be feeling better.”  
   
“I am,” he said, surprised to find that it was the truth. “You have that effect on me. I'm grateful.” He smiled playfully.  
   
“Oh, you're good,” she said with a laugh as she rolled off her couch to stand. She gave him a tight hug and a very sweet kiss. “See you tomorrow?”  
   
“I wouldn't miss it,” he said, letting her escort him out. He thought about what she had said about Garak on his way back to his quarters. It was so logical. Why had he been unable to see it for himself?  
   
_Garak  
Garak's Clothiers_  
   
Garak watched Rom pace in his shop. The Ferengi was so nervous that he was beginning to make the tailor nervous, too. He bit back an instruction to calm down. Rom had told him of how Quark rigged the test so that Nog would fail. Now the boy was taking it again. He also resisted the urge to give the man false assurances. While he had no doubt that Nog was capable, he had no way of knowing if he'd handle himself well under pressure. From what he had seen of him in the past, he wasn't so sure. “Can I get you anything?” he offered instead, unsure of what else to do for him.  
   
“No,” Rom snapped, instantly apologizing afterward. “You know I didn't mean it that way. I can't stand this waiting. I don't think it took this long last time.”  
   
Garak didn't bother to correct him. “Waiting is always difficult,” he said instead. Hoping to distract him, he asked, “Did you really tell Quark you'd burn down the bar?”  
   
“I did,” Rom said emphatically with a look in his eyes that made Garak believe him one hundred percent. “I've never been so angry in my life. For half the night I was talking to my son and having to endure the crushed look on his face. I was already suspicious my brother was up to something because of a few things he had said earlier, but when he came over being so sympathetic, I knew. It didn't take much to get my hand on the data rod and check for myself.”  
   
“Nog is lucky to have you for a father,” he said, sounding more wistful than he intended.  _You're getting so sentimental in your middle age,_  he chided himself silently.  
   
“You never speak of your family,” Rom said suddenly.  
   
Damn the man for catching that tone. Ferengi hearing! “No, I don't,” he said in a way that indicated that he wouldn't, even if asked. Blue eyes locked to blue eyes for several long moments before Rom finally looked away. He felt relieved. He didn't want to have to be harsh with him while he was so worried, but he would have been if pressed.  
   
“Father! Father!” Nog's squeaky voice carried even to Garak's ears well before the boy burst into the shop and launched himself full tilt into Rom's arms. “I did it! I did it! I passed the test!”  
   
Smiling, Garak retreated to the stock room to give them their privacy. Such displays were difficult for him to take. He was making progress in working through his grief for Tain, but any number of things could hit him hard and have him fighting for control. He didn't want to get to that point tonight, not on such a happy occasion. He could hear their voices more indistinctly, then Rom popped his head around the door. “Garak,” he said, “is it OK with you if Nog changes into his uniform here? I want everyone at the bar to see it.”  
   
“Of course it is,” he said. He emerged from the room and addressed Nog. “The box is under the counter, right over there.” He pointed and watched the boy dart to fetch it. “You can use any dressing room you like, and Nog?”  
   
“Yes sir?” he asked.  
   
Garak offered him a genuine smile. “Congratulations.”  
   
_Julian  
Replimat Café_  
   
Julian tried not to fidget while waiting for Garak to arrive. It was their first lunch date since the break up. He wanted things to go well. More importantly, he wanted to prove to himself that he could do this without feeling too lost or wistful. He held his breath when he entered, wearing the tunic that he knew was Julian's favorite. He wasn't so naïve that he didn't know it was deliberate, but to what end, to please him or to remind him of what he walked away from? He offered a hand to press, that cool palm against his all too briefly. He already had his food tray and watched Garak fetch his. After the man settled, he said, “It has been a pretty eventful few days, hasn't it?”  
   
“That it has,” Garak replied. “I'm relieved the Constable is back to himself.”  
   
“He told you what happened to him?” he asked.  
   
“Indeed,” the tailor nodded, taking a bite of his food, chewing thoroughly, and swallowing it. He sipped at his tea. “I suppose something like that could have happened with any one of you.”  
   
“I'm not sure,” he said thoughtfully. “Dax and the Guardian both seemed to think it had something to do with Odo's being a changeling. I confess that I wish I had been able to study the situation before Curzon agreed to return to Dax.”  
   
“I personally believe it's sheer foolishness to allow anyone other than yourself into your head,” Garak said with distaste. The doctor had to smile. If the tailor had said anything but that, he would have hauled him into the infirmary to have him checked for brain fever. “What?” the tailor asked, peering at him owlishly.  
   
“Nothing,” he said, the smile deepening. “I'm just very glad to see that at least some things around here haven't changed.” As Garak returned the smile, plainly amused, he realized that yes, he could do this, and yes, it would be OK. They were still friends, perhaps better friends than they had ever been in the past precisely because of the weight of all that had happened between them. He dug into his meal with an appetite and allowed himself to feel optimistic about the future despite the Dominion threat. They had weathered other storms. They would weather that one, too, if or when it came.

**Author's Note:**

> The span of this story covers “Facets.” It was first posted to LiveJournal on Jan, 11, 2010.  At some point in the story, you may notice that someone mentions meeting another by 2500. As Bajor is on a 26 hour cycle, the station, too, follows that schedule. The previous story, “Freefall”, is pretty much a must for full context of everything going on here. Reading back further in the series would be helpful but not essential.


End file.
